Page 51 of The Lawrence Browne Affair
Rising to his feet with all the self-possession he could muster, Georgie greeted Lawrence and performed the necessary introductions. He wanted to know how long Lawrence had been standing there, but that was never a clever thing to ask. It was best to be the first one to speak unpleasant truths, to put just the right level of distracting shine on the ugly facts.
“Lady Standish and her brother, Mr. Medlock, have paid a call on us, my lord. Lady Standish is responsible for her husband’s letters and business interests, so I don’t doubt that the two of you will have many shared interests.”
That wasn’t so bad. Lawrence’s expression even softened, his eyebrows less violently V-shaped.
“Welcome to Penkellis,” Lawrence said, and he almost sounded like he meant it. He didn’t come further into the room, but he didn’t need to. He was dressed to go outdoors, in a topcoat Georgie had purchased last week. Simon was in the hall behind him, similarly attired; Barnabus had lumbered into the parlor and was drooling on the new carpet. Georgie gathered that Lawrence and Simon meant to take the dog for some exercise.
“I’m glad to see you in good health, Lord Radnor,” Lady Standish said. “The contents of your last two letters left me a good deal concerned. So when I found myself somewhat near your home”—here, Georgie thought he heard Julian Medlock snort with derision—“I knew I had to pay a call.”
“My last two letters?” Radnor repeated, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows.
“In which you detailed the functioning of the trough battery and the scheme for burying the device underground. None of it made the least bit of sense.”
Oh, damn. Those were the letters Georgie had written, hoping to mislead Standish sufficiently to prevent him profiting off Lawrence’s invention while Georgie figured out how to steal it himself. He coughed apologetically. “I believe I wrote those letters. Perhaps I misunderstood the mechanism for the battery. How stupid of me.”
Lawrence’s eyebrows had reverted to ominous slashes across his brow. And rightly so, since he knew that Georgie was perfectly capable of explaining the telegraph and the battery.
Lady Standish did not seem to notice. “Ah, that explains it. It was an unfamiliar hand.”
Lawrence narrowed his eyes, and now he looked very threatening indeed. He knew Georgie was up to something. Georgie instinctively moved closer, drawn by some half-formed and misguided intent to reassure his lover. But as he stepped out of the shadows, a beam of light struck him full in the face.
“Oh!” It was Medlock, damn him. Georgie stepped out of the shaft of light but it was too late. “I knew you looked familiar.” He bit his lip and held his finger in midair for a long moment, during which Georgie thought he might expire from suspense. “Gerald Turnbull!” he finally announced with an air of satisfaction, as if he had calculated a particularly difficult sum without pencil and paper.
“He’s already said his name is George Turner, my dear,” Lady Standish said. “He can’t be your Gerald Turnbull. Although those namesareterribly similar. Perhaps you were introduced to Mr. Turner and misheard it as Turnbull.”
“That must be it.” Medlock did not sound convinced. “You had something to do with those canals Reggie was so keen on.” He stopped abruptly, no doubt remembering that his friend had lost a frightful amount of money in the scheme. Medlock was too much the gentleman to discuss money, or crime, in mixed company, but he turned a sharply appraising eye on Georgie.
He knew.
Medlock was not the only one regarding Georgie carefully. Lady Standish looked like she was about to start asking questions about canals. No doubt she knew more about that topic than Georgie ever would.
But it was the look on Lawrence’s face that stopped Georgie cold. He looked like a man who finally understood something he wished he hadn’t ever known.
I as good as told you, Georgie wanted to cry.You knew I wasn’t honest. He had begged Lawrence to lock up his valuables, for God’s sake.
“I’m taking the dog for some air before the snow gets too deep,” Lawrence said. “It’s nearly noon,” he added, with a sweeping glance around the room that somehow seemed to condemn them all for their layabout ways. “Nobody leave.” Those last words he said with a pointed look at Georgie, as if he were afraid that Georgie might flee the premises. That assumption wasn’t far off the mark. In the ordinary course of things, Georgie would have disappeared as soon as his swindle was exposed. He would have grabbed his satchel and run.
He still wanted to. But he wouldn’t. He would give Lawrence an explanation. It would be humiliating, probably for both of them.
And then Lawrence would be done with him.
CHAPTERTWENTY
The sky grew menacingly gray as the snow fell with greater urgency.
“We’ll have to put them in those two rooms at the end of the corridor,” Janet said, coming up behind Georgie in the hall. “I’ll send up some clean linens.”
Lady Standish and Mr. Medlock would spend the night, possibly two nights if this snow lasted. Yesterday’s light snow had dwindled into mud, but today’s storm might make travel impossible, not only for the visitors but for Georgie if Lawrence asked him to leave.
Like a jolt from careless handling of Lawrence’s battery, Georgie realized that he’d have to leave no matter what. Medlock was a notorious gossip, and now that he was in possession of a particularly delectable bit of news there would be no shutting him up. The Earl of Radnor, who supposedly had madness in his blood, had a confidence artist under his roof. It would be a matter of days before news got back to Mattie Brewster about where to find his prodigal swindler. And then he’d come looking for him here, at Penkellis. Georgie wouldn’t expose Lawrence to that risk. It was bad enough that Lawrence’s name would be linked with his own.
But where to go? Certainly not London. For all Georgie knew, he’d step off the stagecoach and find himself tossed directly in the Thames by one of Mattie’s men. Perhaps the Continent, then. Another time that prospect might have sounded appealing, but now Paris and Milan were only places that didn’t have Lawrence. He rested his head against the cold windowpane and sighed.
“Come, now,” Janet said, laying a hand on Georgie’s forearm. “Nothing to get fussed about. Those rooms are right as rain. The chimneys don’t smoke, at least not too badly, and we’ve gotten rid of nearly all the mice.”
She had mistaken the cause of his grim mood. “Quite right,” he said absently. “Please have Mrs. Ferris send up a tray of sandwiches for the guests.”
He went upstairs to pack his things. Everything he owned fit into a valise and a satchel with room to spare. There would be no last-minute pilfering of candlesticks or teaspoons. There would be no soap tin filled with jewels either. Lawrence had given those gifts when he had underestimated Georgie’s secrets. Taking them would be as good as theft, and Georgie couldn’t bring himself to steal from the man he loved.
